


have some blue

by blueberrysoup (spritefully)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, POV Second Person, dream is mentioned a few times, help how tf does tagging work, no beta we die like wilbur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:02:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28295013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spritefully/pseuds/blueberrysoup
Summary: Tommy, fresh into exile, has some blue. This has some slightly strange ramifications on his state of mind; it did, after all, come from a ghost.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 78





	have some blue

**Author's Note:**

> this is a bit late and rather short and disjointed, but here's a oneshot of my version of tommy's exile!

The faded, grey ghost with the unnervingly open smile and bright yellow sweater that is all too familiar reaches a carefree translucent hand out towards you.

“Calm yourself, have some blue!” He grins, and offers you a vial of a foreign, pale, white powder with just the faintest hint of blue. More a faded shade of periwinkle than anything else.

You eye the substance suspiciously. Ghostbur seems to take no notice of this.

“Have some blue. You look sad. It makes you less sad; look!” He tips a pinch of the powder into its palm. The previously desaturated color darkens into a vibrant cornflower. Simultaneously, the cooler hues in the ghost’s form fade out into a dryer, more distinctly grey color.

You squint at the blue, and weigh the possible pros and cons of touching it. Finally, the more curious part of you wins out, and you hesitantly reach a hand out to Ghostbur. He smiles, tips the rest of the vial into your outreached palm, and proceeds to float away, humming quietly.

Only you do not notice this exit, because you are far too preoccupied with the blue. It slowly settles into the creases of your hand, and, strangely enough, seemingly starts absorbing your sadness. You can practically feel your misery travelling to the little particles of dye. It gathers at the center of your palm, and you observe in detached amazement as feeling trickles out of you into (assumedly) the darkening blue pigment.

You feel lighter. Like someone has just drained the emotion from your body.

You notice that the blue has begun to cling and stain your hand. You half-heartedly attempt to rub it off, but it insists upon sticking.

You think that this should probably be worrying.

You find that you cannot bring yourself to care.

―――

You have slowly settled into a routine. Wake up, eat an apple for breakfast, gather materials. Sit and stare out at the endless, all-encompassing ocean, until Ghostbur eventually makes an appearance and offers you some blue. Take the blue.

Dream shows up. You dump your items in the pit and he destroys them with TNT. It used to startle you for many reasons, no matter how prepared you were for it, but you have numbened to the experience. Perhaps you have just accepted and adapted to this new normal. Perhaps it is due to the blue. You do not know. It does not matter much anyways.

You and Dream fish, or chop down trees, or go mining, or whatever, for the rest of daylight. It does not matter much either; it all slowly blurs into one conglomerate anyways.

Dream bids farewell. You eat dinner. Sleep. Repeat. Again, and again, and again, and again. 

―――

One day, you wake up next to water. Gentle waves lap at a smooth surface of grainy sand. It is quiet.

You do not think that it was you who did this. You wonder who did.

You decide that it does not matter.

With a grunt, you stand up and begin your day. You don’t think about the endless depths of the ocean, or how it could easily wash away an entire world if it so wished, or how it seems to always go deeper, deeper, deeper. Or about the blue. It is pushed out of your mind, and you resolutely continue not thinking about it for the rest of that day.

You keep waking up to a granulated mattress and a watery, ever moving blanket. Every time, you watch the blue sway closer and closer towards you, until eventually, one morning, you are almost completely submerged.

―――

You have a visitor. A tall boy, probably around your age, wearing a suit and a face with a warped, black skin that encroaches upon the otherwise relatively normal half. Ranboo.

He seems surprised to see you. Or perhaps to see you in your current state. Or perhaps just surprisedhe seems like the type.

“What have you been doing?” he asks. You shrug in response.

“I─ how long have you been here?” You snort.

“That’s a stupid question,” you say. He relaxes a bit, though at what you do not know.

“Have you… have you been alone this entire?” he says. You stare at him.

“No one ever comes to visit me,” you tell him. “Except Dream. And Ghostbur, but he doesn’t count. He’s a fucking ghost.” Ranboo seems about to respond, when─speak of the devil, Ghostbur appears.

“Hello, Tommy! Hello, Ranboo!” he chirps, in his unnaturally light voice. It rings out subtly, just barely crossing the air between this trio of people. Ranboo startles slightly, and glances towards the ghost.

“Hello Ghostbur,” he greets.

“Have some blue!” Ghostbur says. You reach your hand out, and he sprinkles the pale pigment into your hand. Ranboo’s mouth drops a bit.

“Now wait a second─oh, well, you’ve already taken it. Um. What exactly is… blue?” Ghostbur smiles indulgently, all easy-going and relaxed, and lifts up the vial of powder to Ranboo’s face while waving his hands abstractedly.

“It’s blue! It makes you happier.” Ranboo does not seem particularly assuaged by the explanation.

“That doesn’t─”

“Calm yourself, calm yourself. Have some blue!” Ghostbur interrupts. He’s like a broken record; constantly talking and pitching this substance as soon as any form of negativity may appear. Ranboo looks at you and your blue-stained palms as you blankly stare at him, and Ghostbur and his disconcerting cheeriness and his mysterious thing of blue, and shakes his head.

“No, no, I don’t think that I want any blue. Sorry Ghostbur.” The ghost shrugs, and flits off to some nearby flower, humming absentmindedly. Ranboo squints at him for a few seconds, shakes his head yet again, and turns back to you. “So─”

Ghostbur once again interrupts. “Oh! I saw Dream heading over, Tommy!” He then looks back to Ranboo. “You should probably head back now,” he says, gesturing vaguely towards the woods. He sounds like a child, whispering a secret completely straight-faced and genuinely. Ranboo pauses, then sighs.

“Bye Tommy. Bye Ghostbur,” he says. You wave, and he disappears into the packed trees of the forest. You pause at his retreating form for a few seconds, then turn back the all-encompassing, drowning, blue, ocean.

You do not think about how this is the first time you’ve had company other than a masked man and an empty-headed, forgetful ghost since what feels like forever. You do not think about how that visit had brought a sharpness to his vision, a pep to his thinking unlike anything else has so far. You do not think about the pit of dread that is slowly growing in your chest with every day of this terrible, monotonous, life. All those thoughts are batted out of your head as soon as they even start to emerge, and you decide that you cannot bring yourself to care too much. Probably for the better, anyways. It seemed like an awfully depressing thing to dwell on for too long.

You stare out at the horizon, and wait for the masked man to arrive.

―――

Ghostbur is gone. You have not seen him for at least a week since Ranboo visited. 

The most noticeable thing with his absence, you think, is the lack of blue.

He had never been much of a companion. He has always felt more like a shell of a person you used to know than an actual friend; much less the good conversationalist he once was. You realize that you’d never quite known what to do with him in the first place, and you do not mourn his disappearance too greatly.

You’ve asked the masked man if he knows where he has gone. The masked man has ignored your questions. Brushed them off then returned to whatever they were doing at the time, changing the topic as soon as possible. This is something you choose to not think about—you do not wish to speculate on what the masked man could have possibly done to Ghostbur. Even if you were never the closest with him, you still do not enjoy the thought of death and destruction.

Something else you realize with this revelation is that your mind has begun to feel… full. Gone is the constant feeling of listlessness, the emptiness that had invaded your body and made itself a home. It is as if your head has both filled and cleared at the same time. You gaze out at the ocean, and find that you can no longer stand the sight of it. You feel restless, for the first time in what feels like forever. 

You look down at your palms, and have yet another realization—the blue which has stained them since the beginning of your exile has faded.

It’s strangely freeing.

―――

You’ve spent a lot of time with Dream these past weeks. He has, after all, been pretty much the only living person you’ve seen since the start of your exile. You’ve grown used to his constant presence; it’s almost nice, the companionship. Though that is slightly spoiled by the fact that he does destroy everything you’ve worked for, both before and after your exile, on a regular basis.

Today, though, you find that you do not want to spend time with him. At all. It’s a discovery that matches up with many others that have happened recently—negativity is a strangely foreign emotion to you at the moment. Perhaps it has something to do with Ghostbur’s disappearance? Who knows.

No matter, though. Right now, all you want to do and think about is leaving. Away from the ocean, the camp, the forest. Dream, and his constant destruction, and everything to do with this wretched plain which you have been living in for far too long. 

So that’s exactly what you do. It’s almost pathetic, how easy it is to escape this place that has felt like the entire world to you for weeks on end.

You head north, into the icy lands of cold. There is no desire within you whatsoever to see more water, more blue; the hours upon hours upon hours of staring at those infinite depths you’ve already spent is more than enough to last you a lifetime. 

You trudge through the endless banks of snow. It’s a refreshing change of scenery. Everything is both similar and different at the same time. Both the snow and the water continuously stretch to the point of unfathomability. They both have winds blowing constantly—though the crisp currents here are a novelty that contrast lovelily against the ones you’d gotten used to by the water, and both share the singular shades of color that consume the environment. But the complete lack of damning, deep, ocean blue is enough to keep you exploring.

Soon, though, you realize that there’s not much in a snowy tundra to find. There’s the occasional spruce trees scattered about, a rabbit that’s somehow survived this wasteland here and there, maybe a patch of grass every once in a while, but nothing of significance.

That is, until you find a house.

It has a stone foundation, and is primarily constructed of spruce planks and logs. There is a stable wearing the distinctive shine of diamond armor. You rush to the front entrance, right next to the horse pen. It is a great relief to see the snowless grass under the overhang of the roof, the wooden porch stretch across the house’s side, and the solid cobblestone that you slump against. The tundra, though novel, is still an absolute pain in the ass to traverse.

The animal looks peculiarly familiar, and upon closer examination you realize why.

It is _his_ horse. The horse of the Blade. The Technohorse, if you will.

You stumble backwards. This is _his_ house, and— _oh god, what if he’s here right now?_

You think of anarchy and withers and rockets and destruction, and training and jokes and careful smiles and _family._

You take a deep breath— _inhale, exhale_ —and you open the door.


End file.
